


Paper Faces on Parade

by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa- (strangeandintoxicating)



Series: Darkest Before the Dawn [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Ignoct Week, M/M, May/December Relationship, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 20:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13620963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandintoxicating/pseuds/Strange%20and%20Intoxicating%20-rsa-
Summary: Time has passed since the Day of the Dawn, and Ignis Scientia has kept his promise to his King. Twenty years of loneliness, only punctuated with the bitterness of memories of a time long gone and a King long dead. But Ignis has stayed ever-faithful, ever loyal.While the Gods request much from their Kings, so do they grant gifts of peace.And at ball of times long past, a man cloaked in midnight blue with a mask of black whispers a line that rekindles memories of old."Have we met before?"





	Paper Faces on Parade

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to "My Love Between the Stars" however you are not required to read it to understand.

Ignis Scientia pressed the white mask against his skin, feeling the way it gripped to every wrinkle and every crevice. He felt far older than a man of fifty two, from the aching of his neck down to his knees that had begun to take the stress of the weight of his burdens quite literally. 

It had been a hard twenty years, waking each morning in the dawn when he was still surrounded by the darkness of his memories. Ignis wondered more than once what it would have been like if he had made another choice, if he had chosen another option, if he had refused to be tricked by Ardyn Izunia all those years ago. Would Noctis have survived? Would the light have been restored? Would Ignis have gathered the courage to challenge the Gods to Noctis's fate?

It was too late to ask, too late to ponder upon the fate that had been taken from them both.

"Mr. President, are you ready?"

Ignis turned toward the voice as he reached forward for his cane, sighing. He typically didn't need a cane for seeing, but his knees... "As I ever will be. Send my regards to Iris—I cannot believe she talked me into this bloody thing."

Ignis had been against it at first—his memory of the last masquerade ball floating in the back of his mind. He could still see Noctis smiling at him through his gold and white mask, the same one he wore now. They had found it tucked away in the Citadel, so lovingly wrapped between  silks and velvet cloaks that it survived the attack upon the Citadel and the ten years of darkness. 

Iris thought it a perfect way to celebrate the yearly Day of the Dawn, a reminder to Ignis and the rest of the world that their Dawn King had once been a human, had once been a man. Noctis had been real... once upon a time.

Iris hadn't fought him when he requested the mask; no one but a select few knew of its importance, of the laughter between two young men with no expectations or fears. To the others it was just a white and gold mask, a perfect symbol of their twentieth year of the dawn rising.

"Let's just get this bloody thing over with."

"I'm sure the papers would have a field day if you said that to anyone else." Talcott laughed. "And you can tell her yourself. She's going to be here tonight. Maybe you'll even get a dance."

"And take you from your lovely wife?"

"That same wife would more likely kick my ass if I tried to deny her a dance with you."

Ignis tried to smile, conjuring an image in his mind of what Iris had been like so many years before. Time had changed her, but to Ignis she would always be the sweet girl with her stuffed moogle clutched in her arms as the boat pulled out from Cape Caem. "I'll make a point to give her the first dance."

The dance was but a tradition, a formality... One that Ignis had been happy to let die, but many of the survivors had wanted to experience on their own.

Before, when Insomnia had a King and a Crystal, a Ring and a Wall, the only people who attended such events were those with a connection to the Lucis Caelum family through blood or duty. Now it was open to the public, a random lottery of tickets that was presented to whomever wished for them. It was only fair for the people, an equal opportunity. Ignis thought Noctis would have appreciated such an action—he always wanted to be normal, to live just as he wanted without his title being what people cared about.

The people didn't really understand that. To some who remembered him before the darkness, Noctis was a Prince who was never seen but always heard of. To the hunters he was a comrade. To his friends and those who knew him best... he was just Noct. 

But after Day of the Dawn, that man who loved cats and spoke of dreams of a future without fears, he began to fade. Now he was but the Dawn King, the story children were told as they suckled against their mothers' breast. Noctis? 

The real Noct was held only in the hearts of those who had loved him, who had watched him grow from boy into man, from man into king. Ignis could remember midnight stars above him and sand between their toes as they held seashells to their ears as children. If he did it now, Ignis could almost hear Noctis's carefree laugh echoing inside.

That was the Noct the world should have known.

Ignis reached up with his free hand to trace along the edge of the mask, wishing that he could feel Noctis's face instead of the old, tired face he felt every morning and night.

"Mr. President..."

 "You've known me all your life, you need not with the formalities."

"I like calling you that. It's... It feels right."

Ignis could imagine young Talcott and his small cactus spread out before him. He could see the smile pulling at his mouth, the way he had every time Noctis pressed another little toy into his hands.

"You only have to make an appearance. If you don't want to dance or anything, no one's gunna blame you. You don't even have to stay until midnight for the unmasking."

"It would be quite pointless for me to, would it not?"

Talcott said nothing, instead only patting Ignis on the shoulder. "We all know... so don't feel obligated."

"I—thank you, Talcott."

"Of course, Ignis."

 

* * *

 

 

It was Ignis's fault, having let go of Iris's hand in the center of the ballroom. Talcott hadn't been joking about Iris wanting a dance, having remembered the times in their youth where Ignis had allowed the young girl to stand on the tops of his shoes as he swayed them back and forth. She didn't need to stand on top his shoes any longer, but the memory still lingered.

This hall was nothing but memories laid bare for all to see.

 "Have we met before?"

Ignis swallowed hard at the voice, a memory from so long ago filling every one of his senses. He could almost see the young man before him... He could imagine Noctis in a dark velvet suit, so blue it was almost black. He could almost feel the cravat around Noctis's throat, the exquisite beadwork that Ignis had run his fingers over all night before gathering the courage to finally go to his prince. The black mask would no doubt intricately weave its way up his cheeks, the ornate skulls leaving only spots of pale skin showing. He could smell the heady aroma of coffee and orange blossom, taste Noctis's laughter on his lips... 

But no—Noctis was gone. Twenty years to the day...

"I do not believe so."

Ignis tried to calm his beating heart as the man walked closer, pressing his hand into Ignis's. He could hear someone to his left say something, but Ignis's head felt cloudy and his stomach was tight. It was just the sound of the crowds, the feeling of the marble he knew so well under his feet. He should have pushed for the ball to be held elsewhere—anywhere else.

Working in the Citadel was a test of wills every day, but he should have put his foot down for this. It was too close, too raw. Twenty years had given him time to adjust to the pain, to cover it up with duties to Insomnia and the rest of Eos. All of the rebuilding, the restructuring... Ignis had grieved by throwing himself into the work he knew Noctis would have wished for him to have done in his name. 

No time for lovers. No reason for lovers when his one true love was gone. 

"A little forward—" 

"Our outfits... certainly do seem to perfectly match. The Night," the man whispered as he gripped Ignis's hand as tight as he could, "and the most beautiful of Dawns."

Ignis couldn't help but let out a soft gasp—This was just a memory, just a moment of relapse into the past. This was nothing more than a common phrase that potential suitors said so long ago. But the man's voice was young, his hand so very soft. This was barely a man at all—he was a Dawn-born. 

How did a child born after the dawn know the old phrases?

_(How could he sound so much like Noct?)_

"I have no desire for a dance partner." Ignis should have expected that someone would not notice him—with the mask, it was almost impossible to see the tell-tale scars across his face. His hair had been left down, more as a reminder to himself of the owner of the mask and his wild midnight hair. "My apologies."

Ignis pulled at his hand, but the man who had grabbed him did not let go.

"It is always darkest before dawn." The man pulled Ignis's hand up, pressing a feather-soft kiss against his knuckles. "Just before midnight, Iggy. You can find what you desire on the balcony."

He was gone before Ignis had the chance to say a word, leaving Ignis in between the dancing couples and their laughter—surrounded by joy when he relived his memories. How cruel the mind could be, reminding him so constantly of the loss he would never forget.

"Sir?"

Ignis flinched at the hand against his shoulder. But it was only Mobius, one of his assistants.

"Who was that?"

Ignis let out a breath— "What?"

 "The man... the one who was just here. Mr. President, should I call the Guard?"

 Ignis shook his head. "No, Mobius. I'm rather tired. I think I'll take my leave."

"I can return with you to your—"

"Enjoy the festivities. That's an order."

Mobius laughed. "Thank you, sir." Ignis could hear the clink of his uniform and his shoes as he straighten out. "The exit is to your left. Would you like me to—"

"I can no doubt find a door. Enjoy the rest of your night." Ignis tried to keep the strain from his voice, though he knew that if anyone could see the half-moons biting their way into the hand the stranger had kissed they would have never let him go. 

But... 

Ignis ignored the twinge in his knee as he headed in the direction of the door, thankful that his mask gave him the opportunity to avoid those who would have wished to speak to him. He couldn't run; his head was swimming and the thought made his breath come in harsh pants.

His feet knew the way to the South Ballroom, to the room he had enshrined, just as the Throne Room, though this room was more personal. It was a place for Noctis the man, not the Dawn King. 

It was Ignis's room of mourning, but...

Ignis reached up to his necklace with fumbling fingers, unclasping the back after only a moment of trying. He could feel the small pendant Noctis had given to him so many years ago next to it a skeleton key. Most of the Citadel had been outfitted with keycards, but this room was special. Noctis was always special.

Taking a deep breath, Ignis slid the small key into the lock, listening to the tell-tale click of the lock sliding. He reached down to the doorknob and stood still as death, allowing his breath to hit the wood.

How could the man have known—how was it possible? It could have been a trap to lure him into the darkness to quickly dispose of him. It was unlikely, perhaps, but a possibility.

But what if— _what if?_

Ignis didn't know how long he stood before the door, his pulse racing and hand becoming slick with sweat. He knew his daggers were on his belt, that despite his age he was still able to hit a fly on a wall if need be. Slitting a throat of someone who dared to pretend to be Noctis—

"Are you.... is there anyone here?"

Ignis listened to the sounds of the ageless Citadel, the groans and creaks of the stones, the wind blowing through the crevices. He could feel warmth from the corner—the fireplace. He could remember how the wood smelled, how the velvet covering the stones felt against his knees, how the warmth of the fire prickled at his skin and left a sheen of sweat across Noctis's body.

He could remember every joke, every kiss, every touch.

"Noct?" Ignis couldn't keep his heartbreak from his voice as he found himself pressing his hand to the side of the fireplace, feeling the warmth under his fingers. He could feel his knees quaking below him, and Ignis found himself slowly sinking to the floor.

"So, you came..."

Ignis choked out a cry as he felt a hand press against the back of his neck. "O—of course I would.  How— how could I ever say—" Ignis's voice broke as he felt the man get to his knees, wrapping his arms around Ignis. He let out a sob that he had held in for years, the tears he had shed only in the company of himself. "How could I ever say no to you?"

And Noctis laughed, and it did not matter the time that had passed because it sounded of Noctis, of the Noctis he had fallen so in love with so many years before. It was the Noctis he had lived without but had yearned for with every breath he took. It was _his_ Noctis.

"Gods, Iggy. I missed you."

They sat on the floor, sobbing and clinging to one another as the fired burned and Noctis whispered of his life—raised in Tenebrae, on the rolling hills near Ulwaat during the first spring after the Dawn. He had grown up just a boy, born to simple farmers with simple lives. He grew strong on the berries his family farmed and cultivated, and Noctis laughed as he pressed his lips against Ignis's mask, the mask he had worn so many years before.

"Why didn't you—" It wasn't an accusation, but Ignis could not keep the pain from his voice as Noctis brushed his fingers over the corner of his mask.

"I didn't remember, Iggy. Everything was foggy, just a memory. When I was reborn.... the gods wished for me to have a life unmarred by the past. Just a normal boy... what I always wanted to be." His words were bitter, and Ignis had to place his hands against Noctis's to keep the other man from shaking.

"When it came back—not just the pieces in my dreams, but my memories of everything— I bought an airship ticket and flew here the second I could. But... you're not an easy man to get ahold of, Mr. President," Noctis teased, though there was a hint of regret in his voice. "I... I wanted to send you letters or an email... but what could I say? 'Hey, I'm the reincarnated soul of your ex-lover. AKA, the King of Kings, the Slayer of the Accursed, the 114th King of Lucis'? I didn't exactly need to get tossed in the psych unit..."

There has been a few men and even one rather brazen woman, who had tried to claim a form of legitimacy during the first few years of reconstruction. They all wanted something: Money, power, fame... Ignis knew that Gladio and Iris would have had Noctis on his back in a second, not even listening to him. Ignis wouldn't have blamed them—he would have done the same. 

"How long?" 

Noctis hummed as he finally allowed his fingers to run through Ignis's hair. It was in such a way that only Noctis ever had, and it took more and more strength not to break into tears. "About six months... got a job in the post office, managed to get a ticket for tonight. I....uh, may have stolen it." The man shrugged sheepishly, and Ignis could imagine the little curl to Noctis's mouth.

Ignis reached out and ran his fingers against Noctis's lips, feeling the curves and the crevices, the upward turn of the corners of his mouth. It wasn't exactly the same. The lips were bigger than before, the top puffing out ever so slightly compared to the Noctis Ignis could remember, but it was still Noctis. It felt like him.

"I'm sure apologies and reparations will be given in due course, but... I am grateful that you did so." Ignis wanted to kiss those lips, to feel the warmth of Noctis's lips against his own, but when Noctis pressed his fingers into the corner of his mask, Ignis pulled away. "I—it isn't proper."

Ignis could hear the palpable pain in Noctis's words. "Proper? I haven't kissed you in twenty years. Please, Ignis. Let me see your face. I've seen you a million times before—"

"When I was young," Ignis interjected as he put his hand against the mask. "I'm an old man, Noctis. I'm no—"

"Don't you dare," Noctis whispered, voice trembling. "You don't get to tell me no. You don't get to tell _you_ no." There was ruffling for a moment and then Noctis grabbed his hand, pressing it to his unmasked face.

Of course, being born again meant that Noctis would not look the same, but despite the image his fingers mapped out for him it was still Noctis. The bridge of his nose was a little higher, a little wider, his eyes a little further apart, but Ignis could only imagine Noctis as the last time he saw him—Altissia. He had been so determined, so brave. The fire burning in his eyes had given Ignis the strength to push on...

And then he was battered and bruised, broken on the alter. And Ignis remembered willing to do anything, everything, to keep him safe.

"Did you ever find someone... someone else? I looked you up, but I didn't find anything. They say you've always been a bachelor."

Ignis swallowed as Noctis laced their fingers together and Noctis pulled the hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against each of his fingers. "Never. I was always yours." 

"Then why do you think it's okay to tell me you're not mine?" 

"Noctis—I'm twice your age."

"And? Afraid people are going to call you a cradle robber?" His words may have been funny, but his voice held a hint of ice.

"I don't care what they'll call me. What I care about is you. You're young. You were given another chance at life, Noctis—do not waste your missed youth on an old man."

Noctis pressed Ignis's knuckles against his chest, the soft velvet of his suit sending shocks up Ignis's spine. "Don't you get it? You waited for me. I waited for you. They took thirty years from us, Ignis. Don't let them take a moment more." Noctis's heart beat faster, a pattern that Ignis had memorized from so long ago. "Let me see you."

"I—I'm not handsome, Noctis."

"I've seen pictures. You're as beautiful as you've always been." Noctis let go of Ignis's hand and cupped his cheek again, letting is fingers press against the mask. "Let me see you. Please."

It was like laying himself bare, but Ignis allowed Noctis to slowly work off the mask, to see the tell-tale scars from when he had put on the Ring. There were the scars he picked up from the ten years of darkness as well, including the knot of scars near his ear from the last fight against the daemons before the dawn.

Ignis felt his warm breath against his cheek, kissing each of his scars before moving on to the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth, at the crows feet at his eyes, the stress lines on his forehead. Noctis's skin was soft, smooth, fresh. He could live another seventy years in happiness.

"Noct..." 

But Noctis did not stop until he had his fingers curled through Ignis's hair and their lips were against one another. It was uncrushed, unhurried. It was like the first time they kissed when they were nothing but teenagers learning their bodies. Despite his aching knees and the soreness of sitting on the ground, Ignis felt—he felt free.

"Please, Iggy. I can't lose you again." It wasn't just his voice, now. It wasn't just warm breath and soft hands. It was tears against his cheeks and prayers on his lips. "I love you."

"I won't hide you. You deserve more than to be hidden away."

"I don't care if you have to hide me. As long as I'm yours."

Noctis pulled him down onto the stones below, the feeling of a soft velvet reminding him of a time when they had been so similar and yet so different.

In the morning Ignis would have to tell the others. There would be arrangements to be made for Noctis and promises to be kept. There were apologies required and tears to be shed. There was even one apologetic note that would need to be sent to an unlucky man whose chance to attend the Day of the Dawn's masquerade ball was destroyed by one ex-King in a post office. 

But in that moment where the night was darkest before the dawn, Ignis held Noctis close as they shared stories of a past and plans for a future.

A future in the glory of the light. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know some people may be creeped out by the age-gap, but to me? Ignis and Noctis will love one another with every breath, on every day, that they live.


End file.
